SCENE II.
Venice.
Enter Launcelot alone.
Laun.
Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from
this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and
tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot,
or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs,
take the start, run away. My conscience says no; take heed honest
Launcelot, take heed honest Gobbo, or as aforesaid, honest
Launcelot Gobbo, do not run, scorn running with thy heels. Well,
the most courageous fiend bids me pack, via says the fiend, away
says the fiend, for the heav'ns rouse up a brave mind, says the
fiend, and run. Well, my conscience hanging about the neck of
my heart, says very wisely to me, my honest friend Launcelot, being
an honest man's son, or rather an honest woman's son—for
indeed my father did something smack, something grow to; he
had a kind of taste.—well, my conscience says, budge not;
budge, says the fiend; budge not, says my conscience; conscience,
say I, you counsel well; fiend, say I, you counsel ill. To be rul'd
by my conscience I should stay with the Jew my master, who,
God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and to run away from the
Jew I should be ruled by the fiend, who saving your reverence is
-- 23 --
the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal;
and in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience,
to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend
gives the more friendly counsel; I will run, fiend, my heels are
at your commandment, I will run.
Enter old Gobbo with a basket.
Gob.
Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way to
master Jew's?
Laun.
O heav'ns, this is my true begotten father, who being
more than sand-blind, high gravel-blind, knows me not; I will
try confusions with him.
Gob.
Master young gentleman, I pray you which is the way to
master Jew's?
Laun.
Turn up, on your right-hand at the next turning, but
at the next turning of all on your left; marry at the very next
turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's
house.
Gob.
By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit; can you
tell me whether one Launcelot that dwells with him, dwell with
him or no?
Laun.
Talk you of young master Launcelot? (mark me now,
now will I raise the waters;) talk you of young master Launcelot?
Gob.
No master, Sir, but a poor man's son. His father, though
I say't, is an honest exceeding poor man, and God be thanked
well to live.
Laun.
Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young
master Launcelot.
Gob.
Your worship's friend and Launcelot, Sir.
Laun.
But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo I beseech you, talk
you of young master Launcelot?
Gob.
Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.
Laun.
Ergo master Launcelot, talk not of master Launcelot father,
-- 24 --
for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies,
and such odd sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of
learning,) is indeed deceased, or as you would say in plain terms,
gone to heav'n.
Gob.
Marry God forbid, the boy was the very staff of my age,
my very prop.
Laun.
Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff or a
prop? do you know me, father?
Gob.
Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but
I pray you tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead?
Laun.
Do you not know me, father?
Gob.
Alack Sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.
Laun.
Nay, indeed if you had your eyes you might fail of the
knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well,
old man, I will tell you news of your son, give me your blessing,
truth will come to light, murder cannot be hid long, a man's son
may; but in the end truth will out.
Gob.
Pray you Sir stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelot
my boy.
Laun.
Pray you let's have no more fooling about it, but give
me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son
that is, your child that shall be.
Gob.
I cannot think you are my son.
Laun.
I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot
the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my
mother.
Gob.
Her name is Margery indeed. I'll be sworn if thou be
Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood: lord worship'd
might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more
hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my Phil-horse has on his tail.
Laun.
It should seem then that Dobbin's tail grows backward,
I am sure he had more hair on his tail than I have on my face
when I last saw him.
-- 25 --
Gob.
Lord how art thou chang'd! how dost thou and thy master
agree? I have brought him a present; how agree you now?
Laun.
Well, well, but for mine own part, as I have set up my
rest to run away, so I will not rest 'till I have run some ground
My master's a very Jew: give him a present! give him a halter:
I am famish'd in his service. You may tell every finger I have
with my ribs. Father I am glad you are come, give me your present
to one master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries;
if I serve him not, I will run as far as God has any ground. O
rare fortune, here comes the man; to him father, for I am a
Jew if I serve the Jew any longer.
Enter Bassanio with a follower or two.
Bass.
You may do so; but let it be so hasted, that supper be
ready at the farthest by five of the clock: see these letters deliver'd,
put the liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come
anon to my lodging.
Laun.
To him, father.
Gob.
God bless your worship.
Bass.
Gramercy, would'st thou ought with me?
Gob.
Here's my son, Sir, a poor boy.
Laun.
Not a poor boy, Sir, but the rich Jew's man, that would
Sir, as my father shall specifie.
Gob.
He hath a great infection, Sir, as one would say, to serve.
Laun.
Indeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and
have a desire as my father shall specifie.
Gob.
His master and he, saving your worship's reverence, and
scarce catercousins.
Laun.
To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done
me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope an old man,
shall frutifie unto you.
Gob.
I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your
worship, and my suit is—
-- 26 --
Laun.
In very brief, the suit is impertinent to my self, as your
worship shall know by this honest old man; and though I say it,
though old man, yet poor man my father.
Bass.
One speak for both, what would you?
Laun.
Serve you, Sir.
Gob.
This is the very defect of the matter, Sir.
Bass.
I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit;
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew's service to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.
Laun.
The old proverb is very well parted between my master
Shylock and you, Sir; you have the grace of God, Sir, and he
hath enough.
Bass.
Thou speak'st it well; go father with thy son,
Take leave of thy old master, and enquire
My lodging out; give him a livery,
More guarded than his fellows: see it done.
Laun.
Father in, I cannot get a service, no? I have ne'er a
tongue in my head? well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table
which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune;
go too, here's a simple line of life, here's a small trifle of wives,
alas, fifteen wives is nothing, eleven widows and nine maids is a
simple coming in for one man! and then to scape drowning thrice,
and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather bed, here
are simple 'scapes! well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good wench
for this geer. Father come, I'll take my leave of the Jew in the
twinkling of an eye.
[Ex. Laun. and Gob.
Bass.
I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this;
These things being bought and orderly bestowed,
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
My best esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go.
Leon.
My best endeavours shall be done herein.
-- 27 --
SCENE III.
Enter Gratiano.
Gra.
Where is your master?
Leon.
Yonder, Sir, he walks.
Gra.
Signior Bassanio.
Bass.
Gratiano.
Gra.
I have a suit to you.
Bass.
You have obtain'd it.
Gra.
You must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont.
Bass.
Why then you must: but hear thee, Gratiano,
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice,
Parts that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;
But where thou art not known, why there they shew
Something too liberal; pray thee take pain
T'allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour
I be misconstru'd in the place I go to,
And lose my hopes.
Gra.
Signior Bassanio, hear me.
If I do not put on a sober habit,
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pockets, look demurely,
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say Amen;
Use all th' observance of civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his grandam; never trust me more.
Bass.
Well, we shall see your bearing.
Gra.
Nay, but I bar to-night, you shall not gage me
By what we do to-night.
-- 28 --
Bass.
No, that were pity.
I would entreat you rather to put on
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment: but fare you well,
I have some business.
Gra.
And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:
But we will visit you at supper-time.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Enter Jessica and Launcelot.
Jes.
I'm sorry thou wilt leave my father so,
Our house is hell, and thou a merry devil
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness;
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee.
And Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest;
Give him this letter, do it secretly,
And so farewel: I would not have my father
See me talk with thee.
Laun.
Adieu; tears exhibit my tongue, most beautiful Pagan,
most sweet Jew! if a christian did not play the knave and get
thee, I am much deceived; but adieu, these foolish drops do
somewhat drown my manly spirit: adieu.
[Exit.
Jes.
Farewel, good Launcelot.
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me,
To be asham'd to be my father's child?
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo,
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
Become a christian, and thy loving wife.
[Exit.
-- 62 --
SCENE V.
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Solarino, and Salanio.
Lor.
Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, disguise us at
my lodging, and return all in an hour.
Gra.
We have not made good preparation.
Sal.
We have not spoke as yet of torch-bearers.
Sola.
'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered,
And better in my mind not undertook.
Lor.
'Tis now but four a-clock, we have two hours
To furnish us. Friend Launcelot, what's the news?
Enter Launcelot with a letter.
Laun.
And it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to
signifie.
Lor.
I know the hand, in faith 'tis a fair hand,
And whiter than the paper it writ on
Is the fair hand that writ.
Gra.
Love-news, in faith.
Laun.
By your leave, Sir.
Lor.
Whither goest thou?
Laun.
Marry, Sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup tonight
with my new master the christian.
Lor.
Hold here, take this, tell gentle Jessica
I will not fail her, speak it privately.
Go gentlemen, will you prepare for this mask to-night?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.
[Exit Laun.
Sal.
Ay marry, I'll be gone about it strait.
Sola.
And so will I.
Lor.
Meet me and Gratiano
At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.
-- 30 --
Sal.
'Tis good we do so.
Gra.
Was not that letter from fair Jessica?
Lor.
I must needs tell thee all, she hath directed
How I shall take her from her father's house,
What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with,
What page's suit she hath in readiness.
If e'er the Jew her father come to heav'n,
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake:
And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
Unless she do it under this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come go with me, peruse this as thou goest,
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Enter Shylock and Launcelot.
Shy.
Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.
What Jessica! thou shalt not gormandize
As thou hast done with me—what Jessica!
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out.
Why Jessica, I say.
Laun.
Why Jessica!
Shy.
Who bids thee call? I did not bid thee call.
Laun.
Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing
without bidding.
Enter Jessica.
Jes.
Call you? what is your will?
Shy.
I am bid forth to supper, Jessica,
There are my keys: but wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
-- 31 --
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal christian. Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house, I am right loth to go,
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest,
For I did dream of mony-bags to-night.
Laun.
I beseech you Sir go, my young master doth expect
your reproach.
Shy.
So do I his.
Laun.
And they have conspired together, I will not say you
shall see a mask, but if you do, then it was not for nothing that
my nose fell a bleeding on black monday last, at six a-clock i'th'
morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year
in the afternoon.
Shy.
What are these masks? hear you me, Jessica,
Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the publick street
To gaze on christian fools with varnish'd faces:
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements,
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house. By Jacob's staff I swear,
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night:
But I will go; go you before me, sirrah:
Say I will come.
Laun.
I will go before, Sir.
Mistress, look out at a window for all this,
There will come a christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye.
[Exit Laun.
Shy.
What says that fool of Hagar's off-spring? ha.
Jes.
His words were farewel mistress, nothing else.
Shy.
The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder:
Snail-slow in profit, but he sleeps by day
-- 32 --
More than the wild cat; drones hive not with me,
Therefore I part with him, and part with him
To one that I would have him help to waste
His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in,
Perhaps I will return immediately;
Shut the doors after you, fast bind, fast find,
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.
[Exit.
Jes.
Farewel; and if my fortune be not crost,
I have a father, you a daughter lost.
[Exit.
SCENE VII.
Enter Gratiano and Salanio in masquerade.
Gra.
This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo desired us to
make a stand.
Sal.
His hour is almost past.
Gra.
And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.
Sal.
O ten times faster Venus' pidgeons fly
To a noteseal loves bonds new made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!
Gra.
That ever holds. Who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Where is the horse that doth untread again
His tedious measures with th'unbated fire
That he did pace them first? all things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
How like a younker or a prodigal
The skarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind?
How like the prodigal doth she return
With b noteover-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind?
-- 33 --
Enter Lorenzo.
Sal.
Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.
Lor.
Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode,
Not I, but my affairs have made you wait;
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I'll watch as long for you then; come approach;
Here dwells my father Jew. Hoa, who's within?
Jessica above in boy's cloaths.
Jes.
Who are you? tell me for more certainty,
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.
Lor.
Lorenzo, and thy love.
Jes.
Lorenzo certain, and my love indeed,
For who love I so much? and now who knows
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
Lor.
Heav'n and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.
Jes.
Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains.
I'm glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
For I am much asham'd of my exchange;
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.
Lor.
Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
Jes.
What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves good-sooth are too too light.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love,
And I should be obscur'd.
Lor.
So are you sweet,
Ev'n in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once—
For the close night doth play the run-away,
-- 34 --
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast.
Jes.
I will make fast the doors, and gild my self
With some more ducats, and be with you strait.
Gra.
Now by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.
Lor.
Beshrew me but I love her heartily,
For she is wise, if I can judge of her;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
And true she is, as she hath prov'd her self;
And therefore like her self, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.
Re-enter Jessica.
What, art thou come? on gentlemen, away;
Our masking mates by this time for us stay.
[Exit.
Enter Anthonio.
Anth.
Who's there?
Gra.
Signior Anthonio.
Anth.
Fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?
'Tis nine a-clock, our friends all stay for you;
No mask to-night, the wind is come about,
Bassanio presently will go aboard,
† noteI have sent twenty out to seek for you.
Gra.
I'm glad on't, I desire no more delight
Than to be under sail, and gone to-night.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Belmont.
Enter Portia with Morocchius and both their trains.
Por.
Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
The sev'ral caskets to this noble Prince.
Now make your choice.
[Three caskets are discover'd.
Mor.
The first of gold, which this inscription bears,
Who chuseth me shall gain what many men desire.
-- 35 --
The second silver, which this promise carries,
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
How shall I know if I do chuse the right?
Por.
The one of them contains my picture, Prince,
If you chuse that, then I am yours withal.
Mor.
Some God direct my judgment: let me see,
I will survey th'inscriptions back again;
What says this leaden casket?
Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
Must give, for what? for lead? hazard for lead.
This casket threatens. Men that hazard all,
Do it in hope of fair advantages:
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross,
I'll then not give nor hazard ought for lead?
What says the silver with her virgin hue?
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
As much as he deserves? pause there, Morocchius,
And weigh thy value with an even hand,
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation
Thou dost deserve enough, and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady;
And yet to be afraid of my deserving,
Were but a weak disabling of my self.
As much as I deserve?—why that's the lady:
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding:
But more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold.
Who chuseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
Why that's the lady; all the world desires her:
-- 36 --
From the four corners of the earth they come
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.
Th' Hircanian deserts and the vastie wilds
Of wide Arabia are as thorough-fares now,
For Princes to come view fair Portia.
The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits, but they come
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heav'nly picture.
Is't like that lead contains her? 'twere damnation
To think so base a thought: it were too gross
To rib her searcloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think in silver she's immur'd,
Being ten times undervalu'd to try'd gold?
O sinful thought, never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold! they have in England
A coin that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold, but that's insculpt upon:
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lyes all within. Deliver me the key;
Here do I chuse, and thrive I as I may.
Por.
There take it, Prince, and if my form lye there
Then I am yours.
[Unlocking the gold casket.
Mor.
O hell! what have we here, a carrion death,
Within whose empty eye there is a scrowl:
I'll read the writing.
All that glisters is not gold,
Often have you heard that told;
Many a man his life hath sold,
But my outside to behold.
Gilded wood may worms infold:
-- 37 --
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrol'd,
Fare you well, your suit is cold.
Mor.
Cold indeed, and labour lost:
Then farewel heat, and welcome frost:
Portia adieu, I have too griev'd a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.
[Exit.
Por.
A gentle riddance: draw the curtains, go;
Let all of his complexion chuse me so.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IX.
Venice.
Enter Solarino and Salanio.
Sal.
Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail,
With him is Gratiano gone along,
And in their ship I'm sure Lorenzo is not.
Sola.
The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the Duke,
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
Sal.
He came too late, the ship was under sail;
But there the Duke was giv'n to understand
That in a Gondalo were seen together
Lorenzo and his am'rous Jessica:
Besides, Anthonio certify'd the Duke
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
Sola.
I never heard a passion so confus'd,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets;
My daughter, O my ducats, O my daughter!
Fled with a christian? O my christian ducats!
-- 38 --
Justice, the law, my ducats, and my daughter!
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stoln from me by my daughter!
And jewels, two stones, rich and precious stones,
Stoln by my daughter! justice! find the girl;
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.
Sal.
Why all the boys in Venice follow him,
Crying his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.
Sola.
Let good Anthonio look he keep his day,
Or he shall pay for this.
Sal.
Marry well remember'd.
I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A vessel of our country richly fraught:
I thought upon Anthonio when he told me,
And wish'd in silence that it were not his.
Sola.
You were best to tell Anthonio what you hear,
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.
Sal.
A kinder Gentleman treads not the earth.
I saw Bassanio and Anthonio part.
Bassanio told him he would make some speed
Of his return: he answer'd, do not so,
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time;
And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your mind of love:
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
To courtship, and such fair ostents of love
As shall conveniently become you there.
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
And with affection wond'rous sensible
-- 39 --
He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.
Sola.
I think he only loves the world for him.
I pray thee let us go and find him out,
And quicken his embraced heaviness
With some delight or other.
Sal.
Do we so.
[Exeunt.
SCENE X.
Belmont.
Enter Nerissa with a servant.
Ner.
Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain strait,
The Prince of Arragon has ta'en his oath,
And comes to his election presently.
Enter Arragon, his train, Portia. Flor. Cornets. The Caskets are discover'd.
Por.
Behold there stand the caskets, noble Prince,
If you chuse that wherein I am contain'd,
Strait shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd:
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.
Ar.
I am enjoin'd by oath t' observe three things;
First, never to unfold to any one
Which casket 'twas I chose; next if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage:
Last, if I fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.
Por.
To these injunctions every one doth swear
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.
Ar.
And so have I addrest me, fortune now
To my heart's hope; gold, silver, and base lead.
Who chuseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
-- 40 --
You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard.
What says the golden chest? ha let me see;
Who chuseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
What many men desire—that may be meant
Of the full multitude that chuse by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which pryes not to th'interior, but like the martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Ev'n in the force and road of casualty.
I will not chuse what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits,
And rank me with the barb'rous multitudes.
Why then to thee thou silver treasure-house:
Tell me once more, what title thou dost bear?
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves;
And well said too, for who shall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit? let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity.
O that estates, degrees, and offices,
Were not deriv'd corruptly, that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover that stand bare?
How many be commanded, that command?
How much low peasantry would then be gleaned
From the true seed of honour? how much honour
Pickt from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new varnish'd? well, but to my choice:
Who chuseth me, shall get as much as he deserves:
I will assume desert; give me a key for this,
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.
Por.
Too long a pause for that which you find there.
[Unlocking the silver casket.
-- 41 --
Ar.
What's here! the portrait of a blinking idiot,
Presenting me a schedule? I will read it:
How much unlike art thou to Portia?
How much unlike my hopes and my deservings?
Who chuseth me shall have as much as he deserves.
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?
Por.
To offend and judge are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.
Ar.
What is here?
The fire sev'n times tried this,
Sev'n times tried that judgment is
That did never chuse amiss.
Some there be that shadows kiss,
Such have but a shadow's bliss:
There be fools alive, I wis,
Silver'd o'er, and so was this:
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head:
So be gone Sir, you are sped.
Ar.
Still more fool I shall appear
By the time I linger here:
With one fool's head I came to woo,
But I go away with two.
Sweet adieu, I'll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth.
[Exit.
Por.
Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth:
O these deliberate fools! when they do chuse,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
Ner.
The ancient saying is no heresy,
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
Por.
Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
-- 42 --
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
Where is my lady?
Por.
Here, what would my lord?
Serv.
Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify th'approaching of his lord,
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;
To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,
Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen
So likely an ambassador of love.
A day in April never came so sweet,
To show how costly summer was at hand,
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.
Por.
No more I pray thee; I am half afraid
Thou'lt say anon, he is some kin to thee,
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him:
Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see
Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly.
Ner.
Bassanio lord, Love! if thy will it be!
[Exeunt.
-- 43 --
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
